Being Brendan Brady's girl
by FloatyFlo
Summary: Brendan Brady and Violet Taylor had no idea what would become of them when they crashed into one anothers paths. Full of passion, pain, desire, obssession and love. (Apologies Stendan fans! I love Ste but had to write this. Something different coming from straight female author who loves Brendan Brady. First fic so be knid, sorry to those that love Stendan, hope others enjoy) x
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One – First Encounter

Friday night. Loud, busy, messy. The air in the club is saturated with the stench of alcohol and hot bodies. Dance and House music night. The worst night to Brendan. The pounding music and swollen heat adding to his migraine as he sits in the office, hunched over the CCTV images on the screen in front of him. The usual local student lot are gulping down shots of tequila and sours; the McQueen girls dressed up like hookers, all fake tan and false lashes, flirting and writhing over businessmen from the city. No doubt with wives and children sitting at home. Riley Costello, professional player for West Ham, and his fellow team-mates, are swilling champagne in the V.I.P lounge.

To Brendan it is like watching a swarm of flies. A swarm of dirty, dumb flies crawling all over one another to get to the most ripe rotting rubbish in the tip.

This thought amuses him momentarily as he watches a busy buzzing Mercedes McQueen unashamedly flirting with the bouncer at the ropes into the V.I.P. Area. He watches as she makes a grab for his crotch only to be flung swiftly around by the bouncers and pushed back to the direction of her sisters. Yep, dirty greedy flies. Think of the money he tells himself.

Then he notices his own sister shimmying through the crowd towards the stairs leading up to the office. With a bang and slight stumble, Cheryl announces herself to the room.

"Hiya Lovieeee! I am telling you Bren, it is manic out there tonight! What did I tell you about having the shots on offer, they have really pulled people in. The tills are constantly ringing. I. Am. A. Genius."

Brendan raises an eyebrow as way of reply, as he continues to survey the scenes from downstairs. Cheryl flops down onto the leather chair on the opposite side of Brendan's desk, and tilts her head to the left.

"Yeah Chez, well done, really good night, fantastic work sis." She speaks in deep gruff voice.

She then tilts her head to the left. "Aww thank you Brendan, nice to know my hard work is appreciated around 'ere."

Brendan laces his fingers together and rests his chin on them while looking at her bemused. "Yes, Chez, was a good idea. Now if your done feeding your ego, I have a massive headache right here" Brendan points to his left temple,

"And here," he points to his right. "And now here." He points to Cheryl.

"O you cheeky bugger, I have been working my fingers to the bone out there tonight, while you've been sat on your arse doing nuthin'. Come on, we need a hand on the bar. That new girl was supposed to be here half an hour ago and Rhys has gone home sick."

"Jesus Cheryl where do you get these staff? Incompetent, the lot of 'em. If you'd just listen to-"

"Quit your moaning Brady boy, and move it now!" Cheryl points to the door sharply, face covered in a grin, then proceeds to steer Brendan by the shoulder out into the flies nest.

"Alright mate, can I get two -"

"I'm not ye mate."

"Eh? Sorry?"

"I said, I'm. Not. Your. Mate, mate."

"Err. Right. Two house vodka doubles please."

Brendan slams the two glasses down, carelessly spilling half of each drink onto the bar, and snatches a ten pound note from the wasted lads hand.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Cheryl Brady."

"And you are-?" Grunted Brendan, without looking up.

"Violet Taylor. I'm new, starting tonight."

"Oh, right would tonight mean a fucking hour ago? Yes, back out that door you can go." Brendan growls as gives the wasted lad his change.

Violet laughs, "Erm, yeah sorry about that. Heavy night last night. Totally slept in. Messed the whole day up. So, where is Cheryl?"

Brendan pauses for a moment as he swallows down the frustration trying to rise up inside of him. He turns to look at Violet. Did this girl miss the seriousness in his voice or was she just down right stupid? She looks a mess. Scruffy hair tied up into a top knot, baggy grungy jumper and skinny jeans more holes than actual fabric.

"Sorry, think you missed the point darling. I'm Brendan Brady. The boss. You were late. Now you're fired."

As he turns to serve the next fly, Violet speaks again.

"Hang on a minute, think _you've_ missed the point _darling. _I'm here to work, sorry I was late, shit happens, now where's Cheryl?"

Brendan finds himself beginning to laugh. A hoarse cracked laugh. The front of this girl. Doesn't she know who he is?

Violet looks thoroughly puzzled at his reaction.

"You're good. Very good." Brendan says whilst wagging his finger at her, but his face suddenly drops as he leans across the bar so his face is close to hers. "Now see ye."

With that he strides out from behind the bar and storms off towards the office.

"Okay, look I am sorry! Its been a bad day, and I really need this job, please can I just start now? It won't happen again!"

"Nope." States Brendan simply. He begins to march up the stairs, two at a time. Violet is yet to give up.

"Well if you just stood still for a minute I might be able to fucking explain. Come on, one more chance."

Brendan reaches the top of the stairs, and the end of his tether. He swings the office door open wildly. Violet goes to follow Brendan in, only for him to stop dead so she walks into the back of him.

"Sorry, er , I-" She stutters.

Brendan looks at her and softens ever so slightly. Under the light from the office he can now see her better. Her hair is a shock of dark glossy red, dyed, and actually not as scruffy as it first appeared. She is fresh-faced, and her skin is clear and peachy coloured. Although dark circles under her sky blue eyes give away the tell-tale signs of someone running on very little sleep and lots of partying. Her lips are plump and pale pink. She is biting then nervously under his hard stare. She is tall and slim , almost too thin. Her collarbones jut out ever so slightly underneath her long slender neck, which itself is decorated either side with purple beaded drop earrings.

"Please, I didn't mean to be rude. It's just I keep messing jobs up and I really didn't mean to mess this one too, I've gotta pay me rent and I've bugger all else to go on, and I'm really short of cash at the moment and..." She trails off and Brendan notes a slight vulnerability in her voice. A whole side away from the feisty, gobby one he had just witnessed.

Brendan inhales deeply. The warm citrus tones of her perfume makes his head go fuzzy for a fraction of a second. Then, with a quick snap, he slams the door closed.

Just as a deflated Violet admits defeat and turns to walk away, the door opens once more and Brendan throws her a black t-shirt with the 'Bar Brady' logo on it.

"Put this on, Cheryl's at the cocktail bar, she'll show you what to do. One chance. Do you understand me? I have no time for flaky stroppy students." Violet watches as he slams the door shut again, all the while grinning and nodding enthusiastically.

SMASH.

"Christ Violet, that's the second one tonight, Bren ain't gonna be happy."

The glittering bottle of vodka crashing to the floor, is accompanied with the jeers and 'Wahey!'s from the intoxicated men on the other side of the bar.

"Grow up twats!" Snarled Violet, as Cheryl hands her a dustpan and brush.

"Ooh touchy!"

"Ah come on babe, give us a smile!"

"Yeah you gotta be nice to us, especially if you want a nice big tip."

"Nah Darren, I've got something nice and big for her."

"She looks like she could do with it Dodge. Nothing like a good shag to cheer you up a bit, eh love?"

Violet saw red. In a flash she picks up one of the mens' drinks a throws it over both of them.

"What the hell are ya doing?" Cries Darren.

"Violet!" Cheryl marches across and takes the glass from her hand. "I'm really sorry lads, Violets new, just not use to the banter yet. Are you m'dear?"

Violet scowls at Cheryl.

"Are you Violet?" Cheryl says pointedly.

"No fuck that Cheryl, they were acting like dogs! They're lucky it was just their beer round their heads and not the glass!"

"For gods sake, get Dodger another drink and then go take a break." Cheryl says through gritted teeth.

"What? I'm not serving them."

"Excuse me? Yes you are."

A thick Irish accent growled behind, "No. She's not."

Violet spun around to see Brendan standing there.

"Brendan, come on you know these lads are harmless. Don't undermine me here."

"I'm not Chez. Violets not serving them, because she's leaving." He says with an absolute air of cool.

"What?" Piped up Violet.

"You're fired."

"Hey you can't do that, it's my first night!"

"Exactly. And you stroll in late, cost me money in losing stock, been rude to customers, rude to my sister, and the bouncer just informed that you've been snorting shit up your nose in the toilets. Ye know you shouldn't do coke if it makes you this...hostile. I took the liberty of taking the rest out of your bag, to save you from yourself."

"You can't go through my things like that-"

"If I believe a member of staff is bringing drugs onto my premises, then yes I can."

"_Fine_. Fine."

Brendan, (and Darren and Dodger who had been watching the heated exchange intently), kept his gaze on Violet as she pulled her Chez Chez T-shirt off, walked out from behind the bar and sat down on one of the bar stools.

And with a wide smile,

"I'll have a double JD and coke please Mr Barman."

Brendan opened his mouth slightly in amazement before straightened up.

"You got your drinks, what are you still doing here?" Brendan says sharply towards Darren and Dodger, before they shuffle away back towards the dance floor.

Brendan now turns his attention back Violet.

"What do you think you are doing?" He says simply.

"Well I'm not at work, I'm a paying customer, and I'm gasping for a drink, this is a bar, so..."

Brendan looks at Violet with a menacing glare. He has too admit she has some nerve, and Brendan likes people with balls. She's too much of a pain in the ass as an employee, but as an individual?

Brendan fills her a glass. Pushing down the drop of attraction he feels towards her; not letting on that he finds her rather entertaining and refreshing. Most people just bow down to Brendan's presence.


	2. Chapter 2 - Playing the game

Chapter Two – Playing the game.

Brendan Brady never does things by half. Every aspect of his life is pushed to the limit. Every tendril of his personality is of extreme length. When he plays a game he will win, absolute, by any means necessary. When he dislikes, he will hate. When he loves, he will obsess. When he wants something, he craves it. The lightest touch, will leave the deepest of scars. The smallest drop of emotion, will swell into a devastating flood.

It is just past midnight, on a quiet suburban street. Brendan Brady pulls his leather jacket tighter around himself. He briskly walks against the bitter biting wind, eyes narrowed at the row of houses a short distance away. As he approaches number 22, Brendan glances over his shoulder. It becomes apparent he is being followed. A sly smile plays on his lips. He gets out a key from his pocket, and slowly pushes it into the lock. On hearing the 'click', he enters the house, careful to leave the door slightly ajar. He makes his way smoothly through the dark house, down into the basement.

A dark figure is slumped on a chair in the centre of the small dusty room.

"Anne." Brendan whispers. Slightly louder, "Anne!" He steps towards the woman, nerves creeping in, and checks her breathing. Under the moonlight shining in through the tiny window, he can see she looks pale, but her breathing is steady. The sound of a door closing and slow footsteps on the floor above indicate _show time_.

"Brady! I know you're here! I'm getting a little tired of these games. You're not much fun to play with any more." Comes Warren Fox's voice from above. "You're too predictable!"

In the darkness, Brendan can feel his face break out into a smug smile._ Am I really Foxy?_

With a stroke of the gun concealed in the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he casually strides up the steps to greet his guest.

"Foxy! Fancy seeing you here in my...humble abode?" He stretches out an arm to shake his hand as if it is a perfectly usual situation of bumping into an old friend. Warren looks at his hand for at moment and glares at Brendan. "No?" Says the amused Irish man. "Mm-mm. That wasn't you skulking up behind me just now was it?"

"So, this is your stash house is it?" Warren speaks through gritted teeth. Brendan can see a vein throbbing angrily in his neck. "Where the fuck is it? You better tell me or I'm gonna rip this place apart. And then I'm gonna rip you apart, limb from fucking limb."

"Whoa Foxy, why the hostility? Come sit down. I'll make a little tea. That's what you do for guests isn't it? Boil the kettle; get out some cake." Brendan chuckles. " At least before we get down to business."

"I don't have time for this you freak. I knew all along you were be a snake in the grass. You oughta be more careful next time Brady. Thought you could rip me off. I'm Warren Fox, nothing gets past me."

Brendan smiles sweetly.

"Do you take sugar?"

Brendan turns his back and walks into the kitchen. He flicks the switch on the kettle only for nothing to happen.

"Oh well what do ye know. S'not working!"

"I mean it prick, where is my gear? You're not gonna get away with this, d'ya hear?"

"Oh and look at that!" Brendan lets out that dangerous chuckle again. "No teabags anyway!" He opens all the cupboards, each one filled with clutter. Dusty mugs and broken plates. The drawers are stuffed with old newspapers, keys with no locks, leaking batteries and general rubbish. "Ahh there ye are!"

"Come on Brady, stop putting off the inevitable. Turn around and face me."

Brendan turns, but only to place a bottle of whiskey on the wooden kitchen table. He kicks a chair out from under one end.

"Please." Brendan gestures to the chair, "Sit, I'll get some glasses." He smiles as if this were the most normal thing in the world. Warren and Brendan; alone together; both men likely to be armed and in the dark and derelict house. The tension in the room is suffocating, and the anger is omitting from Warren is threatening to reach boiling point. Brendan continues rummaging through the cupboards, seemingly unaware of this, and pulls out two glasses. With a small _chink_, he places Warrens glass on the wood in front of him, all the while giving him an uneasy smile. The sort of smile that doesn't reach the eyes.

He slowly pours the glossy amber liquid into each glass and takes a seat at the opposite end of the table. He puts his feet up onto the table top and takes a large gulp, feeling the burn of the whiskey as it slides down his throat. He lets out an '_Aaah'._

"Not bad." He winks at Warren. "So, what the devil can I do you for Foxy? My guess is you haven't come for a catch-up. I only saw you at the club earlier this evening."

"You know why Brady. You've got something of mine and I want it back."

"Finders Keepers Warren."

"So you did it take it! Do you know what I had to do to get that? That amount of cocaine is not fucking easy to transport. I had a buyer ready to go and fucking everything!" Warren slams his fist onto the table. Brendan doesn't flinch even a little.

"Oh Foxy Foxy, why don't you have a sip of ye drink. Getting all hot under the collar like that. Not good for ye blood pressure."

"Don't you dare push me. Don't you _fucking _dare!" Hisses Warren.

"You underestimated me Foxy. You're still doing it now."

"What are you talking about?"

"Do you know any Irish fables and legends? Older generations would pass them down. Heard several as a kid. You want to hear one Foxy?"

"Fuck off." Warren spat.

"No, no, no, you'll like it. I promise." Brendan drains his glass and pours himself another measure. He raises his whiskey in a cheers gesture, smirking at the venomous look in Warren's eyes.

"Now this was a long, long long time ago Foxy," Brendan speaks slowly, every word clear and sharp.

"The King of Thessaly, had a son known as the Cael of the Iron. And one day he arrived in Ireland by ship. See they didn't have planes back then Foxy-"

Warren rolls his eyes, "Get on with it."

"I'm just making sure you're keeping up. You are sometimes a little...slow on the uptake Foxy."

Warrens face turns murderous, his fists clench. Brendan raises his hand to say '_now now'._

"Now the Fianne, they were like a small band of warriors, nice amount of power and control. Well Cael challenged them to present their best champion to go up against himself. Either out-fight, or out-race him. He tells them that if they cannot, he will insist that Ireland pay him tribute and grant him sovereignty."

Brendan pauses for a swig of whiskey.

"And did they?" Asks a bored Warren.

"My God, you sounded almost interested there Foxy boy! Which you should be really...seeing as this story reminds me so much of yourself.Anyway, where was I? Ah yes. So Fionn, he was kinda like the boss ye know? He decides the competition will be a race, and he goes to get his fastest warrior from the Fianne, Caelta mac Ronan. So Fionn goes on his way, but he meets a man on his journey. He's unhealthy looking and sloppily-dressed, looks like nobody special. Not one of the big boys if you will Foxy. He calls himself Carl of the Drab Coat and insists that _only he_ can outrun Cael. Let me ask you something Foxy, do you think Fionn believed him, and chose him as his champion Foxy? Or laughed in the man's face; Underestimated and dismissed him?"

"I really don't think I care-"

"Answer the fucking question!"

Warren looks taken aback. Brendan had been as cool as ice a second ago, and now his face is contorted with anger. Although he would never admit it, Warren felt unnerved, where was this going?

"I'm guessing he told him to do one. That Carl with a bad coat sounds like a crackpot."

Brendan starts to laugh. Hard, and loud, and manically.

"SEE, I knew that's how you'd answer! Oh Foxy!" Brendan's laughter dies down and settles as a grin upon his face. He teeth bared almost savagely under his thick moustache.

"Then why the fuck did you ask?" Warren looks positively perplexed. Brendan's crazed laughter has him on edge now. And his insides squirm uncomfortably. Brendan speaks in a whisper, that is just audible over the thumping of his heart.

"I knew you'd answer like that because you are just like Cael. Fionn chose Carl as the champion. Cael was insulted that Fionn had picked Carl as he saw him as a lesser. Some sort of commoner or beggar that was so far below him, how could Fionn possibly see him as a contender against himself. However, Cael and Carl travel to the race's starting point, while the Fianna wait at the finish. Carl wants to sleep late, so he offers Cael a one-hour head start. After waking, Carl passes Cael, but is himself overtaken when he stops to eat blackberries. As Carl passes Cael a second time, Cael points out that Carl's two coattails were torn off when they became snagged on plants thirty miles back. Carl runs back to retrieve his coattails, then passes Cael again and wins the race. Upon reaching the finish, Cael draws his sword and charges Carl. Carl hits Cael with a fist full of blackberries, tosses him onto his ship, and sends him back to Thessaly. Carl reveals himself to be a powerful fairy lord."

Now it was Warrens turn to laugh.

"A fucking fairy lord? Jesus Brendan, what are you on?"

"Most Irish mythology contains 'magical creatures', but you miss the point... as I expected your narrow mind to do so Foxy. See, I am Carl. And you are Cael; drowning in your own selfishness. You assume you're cleverer, and more powerful than others based on what you make of them at face value... yet you didn't see it coming. Blinded by your own ego."

"I _did_ see it coming though didn't I? When I found those crates missing from the cellar at the bar, only one person would be stupid enough to steal from me. I think you're the one that has lost Brady. You made it too easy for me to watch you. Loud phone calls in the staff room, dodgy meetings round the corner. Of course I knew you were up to something you fuckwit! It was like you _wanted_ me to corner you."

"Are you sure you've seen it _all_ coming? How is Anne by the way?" Asked Brendan smugly. Warrens face dropped. "Sorry, have I hit a nerve?" Brendan whistles. "Wow, you are hot on her."

"Shut the fuck up! Mitz will be fine once I've killed you, sold the lot, and paid her ransom. No-one fucks with me."

Warrens words echo around the room. He pulls out a gun and points it at Brendan, who in turn almost lazily pulls out his own weapon.

"Have you really got time for this Foxy? For all you know poor Anne is dead in a ditch already somewhere, and your wasting your time trying to justify why you've lost this game."

"Oh I haven't lost-"

"Yes you have, it's gone."

"What?"

"I said...it's gone. Poof! Replaced by a nice tidy sum. Think I might go on holiday, have nice little break somewhere hot."

"You bastard. I needed that. That coke was enough to the kidnappers the ransom twice over." If Warren was panicked before, he is cardiac arrest-ing now.

"I know. Now put the gun down. Lets not get messy. Besides I have one more treat for you."

"No, no, I don't think so, fuck you Brady!"

Brendan lets out an exasperated sigh. Oh he loves to screw with Warren. Seeing him sweat and hearing the fear in his voice his pure joy to him. He throws his weapon to the floor, out of reach. Warren tightens his grip around his own gun.

"Oh no Foxy, I'm not making it that easy for you. You not going to shoot me." Says Brendan with an air of calm.

"And why the fuck wouldn't I?" Growls an angry Warren.

"Because you want Anne back safe and sound."

Warren opens his mouth in shock and confusion.

"You know something?"

Brendan smirks.

"TELL ME BRADY, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!"

Warren lunges forward, and slams Brendan against the wall. The gun pushing into Brendan's temple. Spit flying as he roars,

"YOU KNOW WHERE SHE IS? I SWEAR TO GOD-"

"GET THAT GUN AWAY FROM MY HEAD."

Warren could blow his brains out right here, right now. It would be easy and satisfying and animalistic. But Mitzeee, where the hell is she? And what has Brendan got to do with it. Warren reluctantly lowers the gun and drops it. Brendan laughs wildly. Eyes wide and adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"You fucker. You...you've got her...you did this. Where is she? Is she here?" Warren bursts out of the kitchen and goes flying around the house.

"Mitzeee! MITZEEE!"

He thunders back into the kitchen.

"Ye know for someone who murdered his last wife, I'm surprised how attached you seem to have become to Anne."

"I'm not playing this game any more Brady. I want out. You win. Is that what you want to hear? THAT'S WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR ISN'T IT!"

"Beg me."

"Go fuck yourself."

Brendan let outs a cold, hollow laugh.

"Yeah yeah, I thought that might be pushing my luck. I'm a reasonable man so... I want your half of the club."

"Fine, give me Mitz, let me see she's safe and then I'll get my solicitor to draw up some papers."

"Ahh Foxy no need. No need. I have it all here."

As if from nowhere Brendan produces a ready to go contract and a pen. He tentatively places them on the table. Warren looks at the paper, nostrils flaring.

"Mitzeee first." He says in a restrained voice.

"Papers first, and I don't really think you have much of a choice here Foxy."

To Brendan's relief Warren scans the print quickly and precisely. It's all falling into place nicely, but he needs to get out of here now. Things have taken a little longer than planned. Brendan can't help but feel smug as he can see Warrens mind go into overdrive, desperately trying to come up with a way out of this losing game.

Before the ink has dried, Brendan snatches the contract, folds it, pockets it and makes a beeline for the front door. Warren freezes for a moment, before snatching up his gun and chasing after him.

"Wait, what about Mitzeee you piece of sh-" but Warren is abruptly cut off. As he rushes out onto the lawn, three police cars and two vans have screeched to a halt. He spins around looking for Brendan but he is nowhere to be seen. Warren swears loudly and screams in anger. His blood is boiling. But before he can register what has happened, he realises the police now have guns aimed at him.

"Put the gun down and raise your arms above your head. NOW!"

Warren does so.

"IT'S BRADY YOU FUCKERS. GO AFTER HIM!"

He feels the force of four police officers slamming him onto the ground. Through the struggle he hears the words 'arresting' 'abduction' 'Miss Miniver'.

**Hope you enjoyed. Please let me know what you think. First fan fic so am an eager beaver to hear what you think.**


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